


So It Goes

by Dredfulhapiness



Series: Our Nation Turns Its Lonely Eyes To You [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Mentions of Character Death, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 12:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: The first shrine Peter saw knocked the wind out of him. For a moment, he forgot where he was: suspended in midair, hanging by a literal thread. He landed on a rooftop with wobbly legs, nearly tripping and tangling himself up because that was—It was across the street, painted on the alley side of a building. Tony. Except, not Tony, of course. From his vantage point, the art was cast in shadow, but he could still see the outline of gifts splayed out on the ground below.





	So It Goes

The first shrine Peter saw knocked the wind out of him. For a moment, he forgot where he was: suspended in midair, hanging by a literal thread. He landed on a rooftop with wobbly legs, nearly tripping and tangling himself up because that was—

 

It was across the street, painted on the alley side of a building. Tony. Except, not Tony, of course. From his vantage point, the art was cast in shadow, but he could still see the outline of gifts splayed out on the ground below. 

 

“Karen,” he said, throat dry, “zoom in a little.”

 

There were flowers, and dolls, and unlit candles. Iron man action figures, model arc reactors— Peter felt a knot beginning to form in his throat. He knelt down and forced himself to take a deep breath. His fingers splayed out on the concrete below him, his heart jackhammered in his chest. 

 

“It’s alright,” he told himself. “It’s fine. I’m fine. He’s…” he gulped in another breath. His lungs felt tight. “It’s over,” he said, weaker. “Gotta move on.” 

 

Except, it was hard to move on when the world around him hadn’t. The news hadn’t stopped talking about Tony’s sacrifice, even two months later. Everywhere he looked were children wearing Iron Man t-shirts, or kids in his classes donning Starkphones. And things weren’t normal the way they should be. Half of Peter’s classmates were nearly out of college, living a life they had slotted themselves into and he was just… 

 

“Your heart rate has increased significantly,” Karen told him. “Would you like me to play some royalty-free spa music to soothe you?”

 

Peter laughed, but it sounded like a strangled gasp. He shut his eyes. Of course that had been programmed in. Why wouldn’t it have been?

 

“No,” he said. “Thanks.” 

 

Peter had hoped that patrolling would make him feel better— more in control, but it mostly just reminded him of the days he’d spent begging Tony Stark for recognition. When he’d call Happy three times with messages to pass on to Mr. Stark. The same Mr. Stark spray-painted beautifully on the wall. The same Mr. Stark that had survived everything thrown at him only to give it up for— 

 

Peter pulled his mask up over his nose and gulped as much air as his lungs could handle. He fell back, heavy, and sat on the rooftop. His hands rubbed together, his chest felt weighted. 

 

“You seem to be experiencing a panic attack,” Karen said. 

 

And Peter laughed again, breathless, because he thought of the stories Harley told him. And, oh, God it must be something in the suit and, and, and—

 

Happy called as soon as he received the distress signal from Karen. That was something else Tony must have programmed in, because Peter didn’t ask her to do that, but suddenly there was Happy on the ground below him, waving up with a sad smile on his face that made Peter’s heart twist. 

 

He drove Peter home. 

  
  


When Uncle Ben died, Peter felt a strong surge of responsibility. He could have  _ helped  _ him. He could have saved him, but he’d been young, and stupid, and selfish. Peter promised himself he’d never fall for those follies again: that he’d be a hero and a damn good one and he’d save everyone he could. 

 

When Tony died, Peter started to wonder if any of this was really worth it. The avengers had spent five years and three lives to bring him and the others back, was Peter willing to throw it away just to die in a fight? Should he give up his life to this just because he had the powers? What was the  _ cost _ of this life? 

 

“How are you doing?” Pepper leaned over the dinner table. 

 

Peter looked up from watching Morgan build with legos.

 

“I’m doing fine, Mrs. Potts,” he promised, and he forced his lips to lilt upwards. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?” 

 

“Peter.” She put a hand on his. In the corner of the kitchen Peter spotted a photo that turned his stomach. Him and Mr. Stark. “It’s okay to not be alright.” And she shouldn’t be the one telling  _ him  _ that. She’d just lost her husband. “Happy told me,” she said, quiet, “about your anxiety.” 

 

“I just miss him,” he said. “A lot— but I’m fine. Really.” 

 

Pepper looked like she was going to say something, but before she could Morgan interjected. 

 

“Peter, look!” She held up her creation. It was tall, and colorful, and it took Peter longer than it should have to recognize it as a part of his own skyline. 

 

He held a hand out, and she gave the model of Stark Towers to him. 

 

“Wow, Morgan,” he said, “that looks great.” Something inside him shifted. “What made you think to build that?” 

 

She pointed at a picture on the wall: blueprints of the many Stark estates. 

 

“You’re a little architect, aren’t you?” he laughed. He turned back to Pepper. “Are you  _ sure _ there’s nothing I can do for you? Babysitting?” 

  
  


“So all of this was his?” Peter ran a hand over the workbench. There was something being built on it-- metal, and red, and intricate.

 

“I don’t know if it was all his, but it was all from him.” Harley watched Peter admire his handiwork. The jars of candy had long since been replaced with jars of tools, and parts, and wires. It had updated as he aged. When the silence ran on for too long he said, “Did you know him? Like, well, I mean.” 

 

Peter looked up from the amalgamation. There was something in his eyes-- recognition-- but he didn’t mention it. “Kind of. I mean, decently. He made my suit and, like, forced himself into the role of…” Peter trailed off. “Babysitter, I guess.” 

 

That wasn’t the right word, but neither of them pointed that out. 

 

“I guess you know someone pretty well when you sneak off into space with them.” Peter looked up to find Harley staring at the floor. “How did you meet him?” He asked. The words  _ he never mentioned you  _ died on the tip of his tongue. 

 

“He broke into my house, called me a pussy, repurposed my shit and then left after I saved his life.” Harley smiled at the memory. “He hated people knowing he was nice, didn’t he?” 

 

Peter recalled the night in the park, where Tony heated up his suit even as he scolded him. 

 

“Yeah,” he said. “He really did.” 

 

“You know,” Harley said, “When I heard he died, I thought it wasn’t true. I mean, the first time we met he’d ‘died’ the day before so I just assumed it was… When I got the invite to the funeral I realized.” He nudged something with his foot. It clanged. “Stupid old man. Needing to be the hero.” 

 

“I’m really sorry that’s how you found out,” Peter said, “That must have sucked.”

 

“The way you found out was definitely worse,” Harley said. 

 

Peter ran his fingers through his hair. 

 

“Look,” Harley said. “I’m not an expert on this… on this hero stuff. But his death isn’t going to stop everything else. The world took a hit. We lost three heroes to Thanos, plus Captain America is in some retirement home out there-- there’s no way villains aren’t going to take advantage of that.”

 

“You gonna be one of them?” Peter had a small smirk on his face. 

 

“Earth needs defenders,” Harley said. “And I need your help.” 

  
  


Taking stock in school was… weird. Through social media, Peter could see that Liz hadn’t been snapped. She’d gone to a science school in Philadelphia. MJ and Ned and Flash  _ had  _ been dusted, and none of them really seemed to know what to do about it.

 

“It’s like being in a coma,” Ned mused. “We woke up five years later and everything is different.” 

 

“At least we didn’t lose five years of our life,” MJ said, and it was funny: Peter had never considered her to be much of an optimist. 

 

There were people in the halls that Peter knew, and there were people in his classes that he didn’t recognize. They’d been in middle school when Peter had disappeared, and now they were going to be graduating with him. 

 

It was also weird that Spider-Man had become something of a household name while he’d been gone. Apparently he’d been mourned. He was on backpacks, T-shirts, lunchboxes, the stickers on the backs of laptops. The world had tried to slot him in even when he hadn’t been there for it. 

 

While the world had made room for Spider-Man, it hadn’t made room for the missing. For five years they’d convinced themselves that were things to go back to normal they would be ready, but instead they’d created a society far apart from those who had disappeared. Technology continued to evolve. Life had continued to go on. Jobs were filled. When everyone came back they were misplaced and scrambling. 

 

They would argue over who were the lucky ones. As if, in this situation, anyone won. 

 

With the help of Doctor Strange, Peter spent a lot of time in Tennessee. At least there was nothing familiar to make him feel lonely there. 

  
  


“You made these webs yourself?” Harley poked the web. When he pulled his finger back, it stretched to follow him. 

 

“Mr. Stark made some of them,” Peter admitted. “I still haven’t used up all of the cartridges that came with this suit and web-slingers.”

 

He hadn’t worn it since the night he found the shrine. No one had attacked New York, and wearing it still made him feel like he was suffocating. 

 

No, most of his nights were spent in Harley’s shed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hands covered in grease or, in this case, web fluid. Peter looked over at the proto-suit they’d been developing.

 

“But listen, I’ve been thinking.” Harley glanced up from the hand he was trying to free from the web. Peter took this as a cue to continue, “I don’t know if this--” he waved his hand, “is a good idea.” Harley grabbed the web with his other hand in an attempt to pull it away. He made a face when it got stuck as well. 

 

“What are you talking about, Pete? We’re so close to--” 

 

“To what? Needing to sign the accords?” 

 

Harley stopped. “You’re serious,” he said. “After everything, you’re serious.”

 

“I saw what this leads to, Harley. There’s still Avengers out there. Let them do their jobs. You don’t need to join the ranks of people getting beat up every day.” 

 

“You’re not the only one that feels a responsibility, Peter.” Harley grit his teeth. He pulled the web again. His hands were stuck together, some of it stuck on his shirt. “Just because I wasn’t bit by a spider doesn’t mean that I don’t want to help.” 

 

“I have something to dissolve that, stop moving.” Peter dug into his backpack. “Harley, I don’t think you understand--”

 

“Understand what? What being a hero takes from you?” Harley had managed to get webs in his hair. “I lost him, too. I know what it feels like to--”

 

“Stop moving,” Peter said again, “I can get it off, just stop moving.” 

 

“Lose something important. And, honestly, it’s kind of fucked up that you  _ don’t  _ want to step in--”

 

“I didn’t say that. I just mean that you don’t need to--”

 

“New York needs Spider-Man right now more than they ever had and you’re in Tennessee—“

 

“With  _ you.” _

 

“As if they don’t need your morale right now. If you’re going to be a hero, go be a hero. Because the world is going to need one soon and if you’re that hell bent on that being your  _ responsibility— _ “

 

“Harley,” Peter warned. 

 

“Then you need to step up and  _ take  _ responsibility. Everyone is scared right now, Peter. But Tony didn’t die for all the heroes that came after him to curl up and quit.” Harley met his eye. “That’s what you’re asking me to do right now. Do what’s best for you, but I’m going to get this shit off my hands, and I’m going to build that suit, and I’m going to make sure the world has heroes when it needs them again.” 

 

Peter’s hand tightened around the solvent. 

 

“So you can help me,” Harley said, “Or you can go. You won’t be the first person to leave, and you won’t be the last. But I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to become an Avenger.” 

 

“You’re right. I’m not an Avenger.” Peter uncapped the solvent. He sprayed it on Harley’s hands, on his hair. The webs dissolved. “This,” he pointed at the proto-suit. “Isn’t my entire life. Mr. Stark didn’t want it to be. That’s why he put in training protocols and tried to keep me from even going out into space. There’s more out there than spider powers or iron suits.”

 

Peter rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I can help you with this eventually,” he said. “But not right now. I need to get my life back together first, or I’m no good as a hero.” 

 

Harley stares at him. His lips were turned down. His face was red. He looked hurt. “Fine,” he said. “Then go. I hope it works out for you.” 

 

Peter nodded. “You too.” 

  
  


Slowly, very slowly, Peter started to piece everything back together. He rejoined decathlon. He spent time with his friends (and Flash, whose admiration of Spider-Man had not faltered in his absence). And, sometimes, when he felt okay, he went out. He patrolled. 

 

And things were okay. Kind of. 

 

When the Europe trip was planned, Peter was relieved. He had an excuse to put the suit away, morale of the city be damned. And when they passed an Iron Man mural on the way to the airport, his throat didn’t seize up completely. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a head canon that Tony programmed Karen to identify panic attacks because of his own failure to recognize his in Iron Man 3. 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr— dreadfulhappiness  
> Or twitter— dredfulhapiness


End file.
